A/N: This is my first fic, so please review! Don't be afraid to be harsh, all reviews will help. I have a whole plot planned out in my head, but am open to suggestions. *Side Note, the character of River song, and pretty much all of Doctor Who is owned by someone who isn't me. Which is a shame frankly, but these are the facts. So no suing.
Echoes of the Library
The Library was dark and empty. A Grandfather clock struck once, twice, and then midnight. The amnesty was over, and the shadows reclaimed their forest.
A woman's body lay on the floor, inside a tangle of wires. She had been dead for several hours, but her body was still warm. Before stood a figure, dark and tall. The Vashta Nerada dared not approach this figure, or the body that enraptured him. He approached the woman, slowly and deliberately, with a scientific fascination. He bent down slowly, plucked one single golden strand of silken hair, and watched as it glistened with an ethereal light. He conjured an intricately carved wooden box from the depths of his cloak, and placed the hair delicately inside. The elegant design sparkled with a faint light as he shut the lock, and he placed it bank inside his pocket. He walked over to the computer console, and retrieved the central core. It was made of dense crystal lattice, with an array of miniscule connections. He placed this in the other pocket, and nodded solemnly to himself. He then turned away from the body, and left without another glance.
As the firm click of his heels grew ever fainter, the shadows grew ever bolder. They drew towards the body, circling it slowly. But they held back. They did nothing, until they heard the faint sound of a door closing shut. Their fears allayed, they devoured it completely. Silence had fallen in the Library.
*Silence*
The heart had been the problem. They universe was awash with dead machines, if one knew where to look. A civilisation that had ruled for thousands of years, and had waged endless wars, was bound to leave a few traces. The technology had been easy enough to piece together.
But the problem was the heart. No matter how many they grew, and no matter how basic the design, the ship would not fly. A multitude of computers had been assembled, but it was futile. They all reached the same undeniable truth. It was impossible.
Nothing could ever force the ship to fly, which left but one alternative. The ship must fly itself. The military scientists had spent years attempting to find a suitable method. A soul could be transferred simply enough. The process had been simplified fairly quickly.
Once you had a subject, you need only expose them to the Arton energy that pours from the Medusa Cascade. Unshielded, the energy destroys all physical matter, leaves behind the imprint of consciousness capable of thought and emotion. No, the problem was not that you could not create a soul. The difficulty lay in finding the right soul.
Once exposed to the Medusa Cascade, through which one could see the whole of space and time, the being became aware of its infinitely small place in the universe. It realised how truly insignificant it was in the grand scheme of creation. And that realisation had driven every subject mad.
It required a person that was strong-willed and pure, and so cosmically important, they were worthy to experience the Medusa Cascade. It required River Song.